


April Fool's Day

by IreneADonovan



Series: Days to Remember [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles-centric, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Sweetheart, M/M, Pregnant Raven, Weddings, at least to Charles, utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 04:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11223795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Charles and Erik get married...





	April Fool's Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another unplanned sequel. Valentine's Day was a little one-shot bit of fluff I wrote when I was first getting my feet wet in this fandom, and I hadn't intended to do more with it.
> 
> But tonight I was happily working on Not All of Wisdom Brings Joy when my best friend called and said he'd gotten some shocking news and needed to talk through it. Afterwards, I really needed to work on something light. I haven't figured out the next Pixel yet, and I'd just done three Parts of the Whole stories and wasn't in the mood for another. And somewhere in there, the idea to do a wedding sequel to Valentine's Day drifted through my mind. So here it is...

“Erik and I are getting married tomorrow. Can you meet us at the county courthouse at three?”

Raven's golden eyes went wide. “You're kidding.”

“Not at all. It's already been six weeks since Erik proposed, and since neither of us wants a fancy wedding, we don't want to wait anymore.”

“But you can't get married tomorrow. It's April Fool's Day.”

Charles laughed, a soft chuckle that grew into something much deeper. “So it is. But that's perfect -- two fools in love.”

Raven sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Az and I will be there, even if I have to threaten him.”

“What on earth could you threaten Azazel with? The man works for the Russian Mob.”

Raven grinned wickedly. “No sex for a week.”

Charles winced. “Too much information.”

And so it was that a highly unusual quintet entered the county clerk's office the next day and approached the window that said Marriage Licenses.

The clerk on duty, a fiftyish woman with ash-blonde hair, lifted her head, then she froze, staring at them with silent (and slightly horrified) fascination.

Charles knew they stood out from the crowd. (Well, metaphorically in his case.) Azazel, the very image of a cartoon devil, in a sharp black suit, his expression fierce, his arm draped protectively across Raven's shoulders. Raven, beautiful and blue, heavily pregnant, and fortunately not naked. She wore a simple antique-gold sheath that made her amber eyes sparkle, and her crimson hair was done up in soft waves. Hank, towering over even Azazel, as vibrantly blue as Raven, his fur immaculately groomed, his leonine features arranged in a smile that showed just a hint of fang. He wore a neatly-pressed dove-grey suit that still seemed to strain at the seams over his muscular frame. Erik, looking impatient and intimidating in his charcoal suit and plum shirt, his chiseled jaw set hard, his changeable eyes steely-cold. Only when his gaze landed on Charles would his features soften and would he look like he actually wanted to be here. And Charles himself, decked out in a midnight-blue suit with a shirt that matched his eyes. He thought he looked pretty good, though Raven despaired over the incorrigible untidiness of his hair.

The clerk finally focused in on Azazel and Raven. Uh-oh. This wouldn't be good. “I take it you're the ones wanting a marriage license.”

“Нет.” ( _Nyet._ ) Azazel's blue eyes flashed with dark humor. “I not make honest woman of her. I not want to be married to honest woman.”

Raven laughed, then she turned and kissed Azazel. With tongue. A lot of tongue.

The counter clerk went back to her silent staring.

All right, that was enough of that. Charles wheeled toward the window, which was annoyingly high. “I'm actually the one getting married.” _Erik, get over here._ He held out his hand. “I'm Charles, and this is my fiancé, Erik.”

Erik latched onto Charles' hand, and Charles could feel his tension ebbing away.

The clerk studied them, and he could hear her racing thoughts. _Gay couple. I can handle that. Too bad the one in the chair is gay -- he's hot. The other one, though, is Mr. If Looks Could Kill, I'd Be a Master Assassin. And I'm still not sure what to make of those other three._ But she simply handed Charles a clipboard. “Fill this out, both of you sign and date it, then bring it back to me.”

It didn't take long. After handing back the paperwork and paying the fee, the woman handed them a certificate. “Are you planning a formal ceremony, or do you wish to see a judge?”

“Judge,” Erik said, abrupt, almost rude.

“Please,” Charles added.

The woman checked a schedule on a clipboard. “You get Judge Sampson this afternoon. Through the door on the left.”

The quintet trooped off to find the judge.

The judge was waiting in a smallish room that almost could have passed for a chapel. Two pairs of short wooden benches that looked like pews. Grey carpeting, a little worn. Floral pictures, on the walls, Georgia O'Keeffe prints most likely, and incongruosly almost erotic. At the front of the room, instead of a pulpit, sat a worn wooden desk piled with papers. 

The judge, sitting behind that desk, had clearly been taking advantage of a slow day. His robe was half-unzipped, a cup of milky coffee, and a half-eaten raspberry danish sat before him, and he held a paperback copy of a Clive Cussler novel in one hand, finger marking his place. A long-limbed African-American, sixtyish, his eyebrows rose but a trifle at the band that had entered his domain. “Welcome,” he said, smiling broadly and slipping a bookmark into his novel. “Which of you is the lucky couple?”

“That would be us,” Charles said, wheeling forward. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze through between the benches. “I'm Charles Xavier, and this is my fiancé, Erik Lehnsherr. The others are our witnesses.”

“You only need two,” the judge said.

“We have three,” Charles said firmly as he handed the judge the partially completed certificate.

The judge appraised the entire group, then he nodded and picked up a pen. Underneath the lines for witness signatures, he drew a third line and initialed it. He had Charles and Erik sign the certificate, then Raven, Azazel, and Hank. Finally he signed it himself.

Almost there. The ceremony itself took mere minutes. They had written simple vows that nonetheless said it all, then they exchanged rings Erik had made, woven bands of precious metals that echoed the double-helix of a DNA strand, and finally the judge pronounced them husband and husband.

Then they got to kiss. Erik cradled Charles' jaw in those long-fingered hands, tilted his head back, then covered Charles' lips with his own in a sizzling, passionate kiss, though with less tongue than Raven and Azazel's earlier display.

All three witnesses cheered. The judge applauded politely.

They left the courthouse in a jubilant mood. The plan was for them all to have a celebratory dinner, then Charles and Erik would head for the hotel they'd booked for a weekend honeymoon.

But “the best-laid schemes o' mice and men...” They'd barely reached the parking lot when Raven gasped and froze.

“Девушка? ( _Dyevooshka?_ ) What is wrong? The baby?”

“I think my water just broke,” Raven said in a hush, gesturing at the spreading puddle at her feet.

“Чёрт возьми! ( _Chort vahzmee!_ )” Azazel swore, then he teleported them all to the nearest hospital.

**Author's Note:**

> Azazel's Russian --
> 
> Нет ( _Nyet_ ) -- No
> 
> Девушка ( _Dyevooshka_ ) -- young woman (My headcanon is that Azazrl uses this as a term of endearment.)
> 
> Чёрт возьми! (Chort vahzmee!) -- Russian curse, literally "The devil take it." Really appropriate in this case. :-)


End file.
